Thursday, 29 January 2009

Twitter.

I've been using Twitter a lot this week. If you haven't discovered it, don't worry. It's a bit like discovering your local yoga centre. Lots of people use it but, really, what's the point? Twitter is a micro-blogging site which means that people get an account there and basically write thousands of "Facebook status updates" every day and keep us all well informed about every single minute thing that they get up to. It's like being right beside these people all day, every day. Fucking nightmare.

Celebrities use Twitter to show that they're just ordinary people like you or...well, not me but you. John Cleese will let you know when he's washing his car, Jonathan Ross will tell you what type of cigar he's currently smoking and John Leslie will constantly remind you that he will still work for food.

The celebrity that I came across almost immediately after joining was James Dreyfuss. I'm not a big fan of James Dreyfuss but his every day notices of castings, celebrity dinners and not being able to quite finish a sudoku were rivettingly dull and I have followed his life ever since. If you don't know James Dreyfuss then you have my greatest admiration. He was in Gimmee, Gimmee, Gimmee and, if you don't hate him enough already, The Thin Blue Line. Sorry for reminding you if you've forgotten he ever existed. Of course, just because I don't like James doesn't mean I'd be nasty to his face (I'm a coward) but, luckily, my Dad would.Two years ago I took my parents to see Cabaret in Shaftsbury Avenue. I thought I'd slightly impress them by getting front row tickets and making them think that somehow the job I do actually makes me some money. We sat down and waited for the show to begin, my Dad handed me the programme. I played the usual game of seeing which members of the cast weren't in The Bill when I saw James Dreyfuss' painful face and thought "Fuck. That's this show ruined then". I didn't point it out to my parents because there was no need for all of us to be depressed before the thing had even started. Then the thing started. James Dreyfuss played the MC, which meant that he was first on stage. He walked straight to the edge of the stage itself and looked directly at us. We were in the front row. James was as near to me as I am (if I was your computer) to you. He breathed in to deliever the opening line. Then my Dad said in a loud, I'm-so-not-aware-of-where-I-am voice "Michael, there's that man you hate". James gulped and went red. "I know", I replied to Dad. "But I wasn't going to tell him". The first few rows that heard it giggled, James regained composure and the show went on. Well, at least he knows now.

To be honest, James is one heck of a great guy compared to others I've discovered on Twitter, or as I like to call it Twatter! Because, SERIOUSLY, that's the best I can come up with. My favourite massive arse that I've discovered there so far is a walking penis by the name of Skinnyjeans. Skinnyjeans has a very strange way of writing, like she's living in an overly Americanised advert for being a really great person. She's utterly kickable. She lets the world know all sorts of annoying flumpty like "Time to rehydrate" and "Every woman is beautiful. They just need to find their own way to let the world and themselves know". What a cunt. Although my favourite thing that she wrote was "At Starbucks. Swallowing is going to be difficult here". Not for her, surely?

In summary; avoid Twitter. I've already become a big Twitter arse. Last night I updated it to let the universe know that I was tidying up. I'm sure millions were captivated by that startling piece of important fluff. That said, Stephen Fry and Charlie Brooker are very funny on it so it's worth it for that. Thanks to Saliwho who pointed me in it's direction.